Tuesday, April 29, 2008

The triathlon gods smiled on me today. Perhaps I was destined to be a shark snack last Sunday, and rightfully stayed out of the water. So even though I missed Macca then, I got the best Macca sighting of all today, when I saw the man with my own eyes. Finally!

It was awesome.

Maybe next time I'll be able to speak. Or not. It was kind of awkward standing at the end of a lane line, staring down at one of my triathlon idols as he waited for his training buddy to stop talking to me.

Macca's a cutie.

So there you go. Macca sighting! The Don of Triathlon was at the Torrance Plunge, swimming with fellow pro triathlete and Redondo Beach resident, Chris Foster (who beat Macca by four seconds at the Nautica Malibu triathlon last year).

The triathlon gods smiled on me today. Perhaps I was destined to be a shark snack last Sunday, and rightfully stayed out of the water. So even though I missed Macca then, I got the best Macca sighting of all today, when I saw the man with my own eyes. Finally!

It was awesome.

Maybe next time I'll be able to speak. Or not. It was kind of awkward standing at the end of a lane line, staring down at one of my triathlon idols as he waited for his training buddy to stop talking to me.

Macca's a cutie.

So there you go. Macca sighting! The Don of Triathlon was at the Torrance Plunge, swimming with fellow pro triathlete and Redondo Beach resident, Chris Foster (who beat Macca by four seconds at the Nautica Malibu triathlon last year).

Monday, April 28, 2008

This is why he's a World Champion and I am...not. Chris McCormack went for a pier-to-pier swim on Sunday morning with the LATri Club Sunday swim group. They leave from the Manhattan Beach pier at 8am to jog south toward the Hermosa Beach pier, then swim back. Macca joined up with them, then surely whooped everyone's bum when he swam from pier to pier--the exact workout I was supposed to do. That'll teach me to be the head honcho of paranoid ocean-swimming wusses.

As someone not-so-bluntly put it, I still drive on the 405, even though there have been crashes all along that concrete death trap. And so I shall return to the ocean shortly. Because, really, what animal could survive living in the waters of Los Angeles? I'm surprised my skin isn't a different color when I get out after a half-hour swim.

Happy Ocean Swimming! And living your life to the fullest as a triathlete! And facing your fears of ginormous blubbery animals with razor teeth!

TriDiva

PS. For more heart-warming statistics on how unlikely it is that you'll get eaten during an ocean swim, check out this article. David Martin's family was in the water the next day.

Friday, April 25, 2008

Not since 1994 has a great white attack been reported on the San Diego coast. This morning broke that 14-year streak of cheerful ocean swimming.

Just after 7am, a group of about 10 San Diego Triahlon Club members went for an ocean swim heading north from Solana Beach’s Fletcher Cove. The group was about 150 meters from the shore when 66-year old tri-club member, David Martin, was attacked by a great white shark, estimated to be between 12 and 17 feet long. Sadly, Martin did not survive his injuries—he had “suffered deep jagged lacerations, from the upper thighs to the lower shin, with a bite radius of about 22 inches.”

Beaches in Solana Beach, Del Mar, and Encinitas have been closed for 72 hours as a precaution. The San Diego Tri Club is having a get together this evening at 6pm at B&L Bike and Sports to show support for David Martin’s family and take a walk to the cove.

And I will probably not be doing my Sunday ocean swim this week, having already been paranoid about being eaten by large fish I can’t see before ever reading this terrible news. That shark could probably make its way up the 100 miles of coastline between Solana Beach and Hermosa Beach in a few days, then easily mistake me for a seal as well.

Our thoughts are with David Martin’s family and the courageous people swimming with him this morning who brought him to shore. You have my utmost respect and sympathy.

For more on the attack, please go here. Or read San Diego Tri Club President Scott Long's statement here.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Coachubby surprised me at our wedding reception by declaring that our honeymoon destination had sponsored the water being served. “We’re going to Fiji!” I screamed. “Yes, it was-” I didn’t wait for a response. I kissed him quickly then went running around to blab to everyone. Until that point, my response to the where-are-you-going-on-your-honeymoon question had been, “Somewhere where I need bikinis and suntan lotion. That’s all I know.” It was time to celebrate! Oh yes, and to celebrate having just been married.

(Coachubby on beach)

I did some quick Google reading about Fiji to catch up on what had been going on there since the beginning of time. I had 24 hours before Air Pacific would take me on an 11-hour plane ride from LAX to Suva. That was enough time to find that Fiji’s government seems to be overthrown every 6 months, that there are over 300 islands that make up Fiji, and that Fijians had once been ferocious cannibals. I also found that the average high in April is 83, and that the water temperature is just as warm as the air. Awesome. All I needed to pack was a few bikinis, and everything I received at my bachelorette party, and I would be ready to rock.

I figured our resort, on small Plantation Island, would be free of political upheaval for the week we stayed there. I also figured that that I don’t look appetizing enough to bother trying to gut me, so coachubby and I would be free to enjoy the tropical water and weather. I was right.

Here are 10 things for a couple to do in Fiji, in no particular order:

Each other.

Run around an entire island. When Plantation Island’s tide goes out, you can run around the island, no problemo. It took us about an hour, and became a daily ritual. Be careful if you’re prone to heat stroke, though, it’s hot and humid and plunging into the bath water-like ocean won’t cool you off.

Kayak. Hit the open seas and check out the fishies. There are a lot of reefs surrounding many of Fiji’s islands that make for shallow water and good fish viewing.

Snorkel, and try to find every member of the “Finding Nemo” cast. Coachubby found Nemo’s dad fiercely protecting his wife and eggs by an anemone. When we swum up close, the little clown fish jutted out at us. Courageous for a fish the size of my palm. A fellow snorkeler lamented that the only fish she didn’t see was Dory.

Learn Fijian. Or at least say “Bula” to every passerby, including other out-of-towners. Kind of like saying, “Hi.” And say “vinaka” (vee-knock-uh) for “thank you”. Resort workers and small Australian children will get a kick out of you. (A rainbow in Fiji)

Learn Australian. Hey, if you’re in Fiji and you’re an American, you’re the minority. Most of the Fijian resort-goers are from Australia and New Zealand. A firm “G'day, mate!” will suffice.

Watch a crab dance. If you look closely, you’ll notice a lot of “rocks” are moving. There are crabs everywhere. Remark how eerily accurate all animations in “Finding Nemo” really are. Vow to re-watch the film upon your return home.

Drink Fiji water, and marvel at how ironic the entire concept of Fiji water is once you read the local paper and discover that Fijians on the big island can’t get clean water themselves, and are busting open fire hydrants to bathe and drink.

Bathe in bug spray in the evening. After a few nights, you’ll become a bit desensitized to its smell, and begin to enjoy the otherworldly sheen your skin takes on.

Count your mosquito bites. Make your partner give you a Fijian dollar for each one, and you might become a very rich person. I would’ve made at least $350 Fijian dollars. No joke. (Hint: We found that the anti-itch gel Soov Bite was superior to the anti-itch cream in a blue tube. Of course, if you’re savvy, you’ll bring your own Cortisone stick from home, which is superior to anything we found in Fiji. I wanted to rip my skin off at night.)

Bonus: SCUBA dive—no experience necessary! Not certified? In only a 20-minute course, a Fijian dive master will deem you good enough to plunk down the cash necessary to go down deep, then take you the very next minute. If you can clear your ears on the plane ride over, you can SCUBA dive in Fiji!(Coachubby in 20-minute SCUBA lesson)

So there you have it! Book your tickets on Air Pacific now and in only 11 hours, you can be sunning yourself on a beautiful tropical island, drinking bottled water (or rum and coke in a can—they sell it! Why doesn’t America have such conveniences?), watching a ferocious tropical storm roll in then go away as quickly as it came, and SCUBA diving with Australians and New Zealanders who are just as gloriously freaked out as you.

Monday, April 14, 2008

My mom had to draw the line somewhere. Everything about our wedding was already subtly (or not) triathlon themed. So when coachubby and I got excited about my dad's brilliant idea to have our guests dropped off at the bottom of the mountain on which we were getting married, then run up it in a race to their seats, mom put her foot down.

She was our volunteer wedding planner / self-made most-amazing-wedding-planner of the galaxy, and she'd already allowed us a triathlon-themed wedding cake, tables named after triathlons, and a ceremony in which coachubby promised to rub my sore IT bands for as long as we both shall live. Giving grandpa a heart-attack was not going to be a part of our magical day.

We didn't push the issue further--she even OK'd "Erin's Fuzzy Lover" as the name for the drink of the evening--and the result was the most perfect wedding. Ever. The weather was perfect, the band was amazing, the food was divine, and the cake was the most hideously perfect wedding confection ever placed in a ballroom. And our friends and family, combined with an open bar, made the most uproarious and fun wedding crowd ever assembled. And nobody had a heart attack. It was fantastic.

Below are some photo highlights:

Dad walks me down the...grass.

We cried. I'll blame my tears on the sun...

Can you find what's wrong with this picture? That's right, there's a bite out of the centerpiece. Somebody just couldn't wait for dinner, I guess...

And last, but not least...

The cake! Swimming on the bottom, biking up the middle, running on top.

Note: I am beating coachubby up the whole cake. Just sayin'...because it's the only time it will ever happen...that I beat coachubby up a cake...

And coachubby delivered on his promise to tell me where we were going on our honeymoon at the reception. Stories from FIJI coming soon!

Having binged on wedding shows like "Bridezillas" and "Whose Wedding is it Anyway" and "Say Yes to the Dress" for a month prior to my own wedding, I'm quite aware that many brides become some very twisted monster versions of themselves in the week leading up to their big day. I have a solution for this problem: Ironman training. That's right, if you train intensely for an Ironman triathlon in the week leading up to your strut down the aisle, you just might be so high on endorphins, and so spaced from lack of sleep, that you just might become your wedding planner and your bridesmaid's favorite bride ever. You might also shock the people around you with the amount of food you eat on and around your wedding day. Here's how:

Wedding date: March 29, 2008

Wedding Week:

Saturday, March 22

Ride 106 miles with at least 10,000 ft of elevation gain. Ditch husband-to-be when he gets his third flat and has exhausted all of your training group's supplies. Ride 2.5 hours home to potentially get car. Call mom worried that you've lost your future husband. Make mother wonder if wedding will be called off. Go for a 20 minute run while praying coachancé will be at home when you return. Rejoice that your husband-to-be found a friendly red Mustang owner who gave him a lift to the closest bike shop. The wedding is still on!

Sunday, March 23

Drive 7 hours with a whiny, poopy cat-dog while paying meticulous attention to the pooper's aim. NOT ON THE DRESS! Put bikes on top because dress takes up entire trunk of truck. Park truck in front of Denny's window so as to monitor 2 tri bikes, worth infinitely more than vehicle. And to make sure poopy cat-dog is not abducted. The joke, however, would be on the abductors. Say hi to parents, dump luggage all over their home, ride 1.5 hours, then go for the most painful 1 hour run you have ever been on, since it is the longest run you've done since you ran the most difficult marathon you've ever run exactly one week ago.

Monday, March 24

Swim 4000 yards in a masochistic set invented by your spouse of the immediate future. Take a dance lesson. Realize that people on "Dancing with the Stars" should never be laughed at. Take exactly 1 hour to do a box step in unison, with a dip at the end for the "WOW!" factor. Sit in Maricopa County government office for an eternity while the single person working there handles everyone and their mother's passport and marriage license applications. Get told the church seal and a letter from a Deacon is not good enough for proof that you can enter into a covenant marriage. It must be notarized. Take the standard license and realize you'll now have to drive another 14 hours round trip with poopy dog-cat to change the stupid thing. Ride bike for 1 hour and run for 20 minutes out of frustration.

Tuesday, March 25

Swim another masochistic 4000 yards. All swimming must be crammed into 2 days to avoid any reaction with your natural blonde hair that will be "enhanced" later this morning. Have stylist who will be styling you and your bridesmaids on Saturday cut your hair. Talk about triathlon the entire time because stylist is doing her first--an Olympic distance race in Baja--soon. Note to self that your mother found the coolest stylist ever. Blow off 3 hour ride scheduled for afternoon. Chill at the homestead. Go with mother for her final dress fitting after Bridal Couture in the Scottsdale Pavillions screwed up 4 previous fittings over the course of 4 months. Destiny's Bride in the Borgata fixed it in a jiffy. She looks amazing.

Wednesday, March 26

Ride 60 miles on a hilly desert road with coachancé. Last call for spending time with coachancé before he parts to pick up buddies and stay in hotel with them. Upon realizing that all the looping back coachancé did because you are too slow gained coachancé an extra 2 miles, jump back on your bike to ride the remaining 2 miles. Feed. Check out the Mini Clubman with padre who believes it is the coolest car ever. Agree that it might grow on you. Say the BMW M5 downstairs might just outdo the Clubman for coolest car in the building.

Thursday, March 27

Ride 60 miles mostly flat. Run a little bit. Get the sports massage you've desperately wanted for at least 8 months. Think what a tragedy it is that tomorrow you will destroy the blissful feeling of non-kinky muscles by running a lot. Join madre and padre to deliver welcome bags for out-of-town guests. Pick up 2 bridesmaids from the airport. Eat dinner while another bridesmaid comes over. Go on a pickup party for 4th bridesmaid. Talk a lot and revel in your supreme happiness that all of your favorite people are all with you at once. Don't sleep very much because it's a sleep over.

Friday, March 28th

Wake up at 6 after not sleeping. Quietly sneak out of house with camelbac and GUs. Run to, then up and over, Camelback Mountain. Peer down from top of mountain at wedding location. Find it funnily appropriate that you're wearing a camelbac to run over Camelback. Run home to find bridesmaids eating breakfast, awaiting your return on front porch. Wear matching flip flops to salon to have nails and toenails beautified with bridesmaids. Gossip. Eat a beautiful brunch set up by the best mother in the world, complete with pink and green cupcakes. Take bridesmaids to hotel. Get ready for rehearsal dinner at a hot pizza joint. Put on tightest, hot-pinkest dress known to mankind. Make grand entrance. Rehearse wedding. Eat lots of pizza and revel in your supreme happiness that all of your best friends and family are all together in the same place at the same time. Realize no party will ever be this cool--except for the wedding!